


First Chance

by garyindistress



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garyindistress/pseuds/garyindistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hankyung convinces Heechul to go on a road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Chance

**Author's Note:**

> *immediately after the scandal with Han Geng broke out.

_  
You're sitting in the back of the bar, shuffling a new deck of cards you swiped from the souvenir shop while Danny looked for trinkets to bring back to his class for show and tell--went on a trip, got these salty taffies, and a dreamcatcher, yup with my daddy, yup, he's been around--and for a sec your mind catches on the image of your boy fast asleep snoring under hotel sheets, a smile makes its way into your face, which the lady in the thigh-high boots a couple seats down is probably interpreting as a leer. You call out for one last beer before you head back to the room so sleep can come easy tonight, and with a shift of your head you make out a pair of dark-haired Oriental boys, delicate features and all the stereotypes you were taught before you learned to shoot, deep in discussion in one of the tables against the wall. You keep looking because it's not every day you see faces like that, and it doesn't take long to register that they're fighting, not with fists but subtler weaponry, a sneer making one of them uglier, his hand stretched along the length of the chair. He gets up suddenly but the other one pulls him back, and then something doesn't feel right to you even from where you're sitting, your thumb rubbing the queen of hearts' head, there is a plea in the tug, something odd and dark in the look of his eyes. The one standing sits down, with a sigh you imagine, and the bartender--pretty li'l Mel--gives you your beer with a complimentary wink and you think of the different ways that would've gone down if you were a younger man, but these days you've got something to prove, someone to prove it to, so you down the beer, put away the cards, slap a twenty on the counter, and call it a night._

 

\--

 

Heechul ponders the betrayal for weeks, but the fundamentals, the nitty-gritty of it all, haven't changed. He should be worried for different reasons, but in the end it's about what makes _him_ happy. And he doesn't mean Hankyung.

Even across approximately 963 kilometers Hankyung is able to sense it. So he calls, Thursday night, the phone suddenly breaking into _Run Devil Run_ , Jessica's opening lines on repeat like a skipping disc, and he says, "I have an idea."

Heechul's got a hundred and one rehearsed responses but they're all responding to something else. He turns over in bed and says, "All right."

 

\--

 

Hankyung's brought mixtapes and CDs, a whole bag full of them, haphazardly labeled or not at all, stuck inside shoes and shirt pockets, the fabric serving as a buffer for the manhandling they will have to endure being loaded up into the plane. "I didn't know what American cars are like," Hankyung says when Heechul's flipping through his stuff at the hotel but the instant Hankyung-specific babelfish translator in Heechul's head tells him he's thought about this, the soundtrack for the two of you on the road.

It only takes three minutes for Heechul to remember that Hankyung's taste in music sucks and that normally he'd type up a cursory blog entry outlining just how much it sucks but there's something, a tight crank in his heart, something perfunctorily carved into the shape of gratitude, and he lets it twist and grapple in his chest for seconds, _one, two, five_. Meanwhile Hankyung is lifting up a pair of his old Hawaiian print briefs and asking, "Really?" 

Cocked eyebrow and all, the bastard. 

 

\--

 

The funny thing is, neither of them can speak the language. When the waitress asks for the third time whether they're ready to order and they exchange overtly uncomfortable glances before bursting into peels of laughter, Heechul thinks for maybe the fourth or so time in his life, All right, so this is what it's like to be Hankyung. But he lets that thought go because it's attached to stickier things he doesn't want to touch, not here, not now. 

Hankyung points to the blown up image of pancakes and flashes her a patented grin, pressing his index and thumb together to form a circle, Okay? Heechul thinks he can do better and immediately is on his best behavior. "Yo baby touch me pancake yeah!"

The place smells like grease and old people, which is pretty close to the truth. Hankyung's got a coffee mustache smudging just over his upper lip that Heechul is keeping to himself, snickering quietly. Isn't going to kiss it away, either.

 

\--

 

Seven years. Seven years living together, give or take a year or so of Super Junior M and then the current _thing_ , yeah that's what they're going to call it, _thing_ , in between, seven years and Hankyung only now reveals his ability to fart the alphabet in the passenger seat.

"Dude it fucking reeks in here," Heechul yells, trying to roll down the windows without breaking the handle off this ghetto-ass car, but Hankyung's bouncing in his seat and laughing like his sense of humor's something to be proud of. Lucky there's no one on the road. Lucky there doesn't ever seem to be much of anything on the road.

Teresa Teng's murmuring sad love songs in the background.

When they've finally got new air cycling into the car, it smells like dust off the road, gravel and weeds and stone. It's nothing like Korea, even countrysides are different here. Heechul has his brow furrowed and nose scrunched up, ready for the next one Hankyung rips like he's on duty. Hankyung's stupid laughing dies down a little and then he says, eyes hidden behind shades, "Hey, someday you'll miss this." 

Heechul presses down on the accelerator ( _if you think you can go faster, just go_ ) and loses his breath with the dust and the wind slapping against his face. _Someday'll come awful soon_ never makes it past the ridge of his tongue.

 

\--

 

There was a time they fought over girls. It wasn't a big deal, no one took it seriously, well, Heechul sure didn't. But Hankyung would point out girls out the window of the cafe where Heechul was writing hangul into the napkin, trying to get the stupid guy to be able to read--he'd nudge his shoulder in an attempt to divert. "Hey. What about her?"

It figured that Hankyung would like the ones who looked like they'd just dunked their face in a bucket of bb cream only to be painted over with a giant eyeliner pen. Just like Sadako, Heechul thought, tried to bring the conversation back to polite and even more polite speech but Hankyung would persist, nodding and gesturing at his latest discovery, as their coffee cups emptied and refilled themselves. An entire day passed that way, and eventually Heechul would humor him--they settled for a high school girl in uniform, hair in braids, skirt swishing against her thighs as they rubbed against one another. 

"Who do you think she'd pick?"

"What?"

"Between me and you--who?"

"Me, duh."

"Don't be so--what's the word--"

"Cocky?"

"Don't be that."

Heechul tried to keep his sneering to a minimum. "It's a fact. How would you even communicate?"

Hankyung laughed, gracefully admitting defeat, and furled his fingers around the cup of coffee already gone cold. Heechul felt vaguely responsible for the change in mood. He was still learning to read Hankyung's moves. The silence didn't mean good things.

"All right, teach me." 

Heechul grinned slow and hailed the waittress down for refills.

 

\--

 

It's a good thing there are two beds, Heechul thinks, because they haven't talked about it, and they've never even--almost, that one time, but that was years ago--they've talked circles around it, but the pink elephant remains staunch in the center of the room, not budging. It's fine to keep going on this way, sidestepping its thick legs, but at some point they'll tire of this pleasureless game. They have to, right?

All things considered.

The third night, the motel they stay at is dirtier than most; the sheets look already slept in, and Hankyung makes a joke about stealing leftover warmth from a stranger. Heechul says "I didn't pay to roll around in American skin flakes" and phones the leather-faced woman at the desk downstairs. A different, darker-colored woman with curly hair neatly tucked under a fishnet comes in and changes their sheets. She looks at them with an open curiosity and Heechul wonders what she's seeing.

Heechul lies on his side watching how the sky pulls taut and dark through the balcony window and hears the bathroom door creak open, Hankyung's wet feet slap across the floor. He waits for Hankyung to climb into the adjacent bed and face him so they can talk idly before falling asleep like they always do but instead he feels the mattress shift and groan under him, warm breath bristling the hair at the nape of his neck. 

An arm swings over his side, inadvertently pushing up under the fabric of his t-shirt. Fingers nuzzling his stomach at the belly button, moist still from the shower. When Heechul tries to talk, his voice is just a low rasp. "Hey--hey, that tickles."

"Sorry" comes out in a gravelly whisper, but he holds him tighter still. Ghost of an apology, "I didn't mean to."

The usual conversation is replaced by this silent heat, this suffocating contentment. Four more nights. They're not going to talk about it.

 

\--

 

Not that he hasn't gone through the different scenarios, how that talk could go down.  
 _  
The problem is, if we do this--you realize, besides all the shit--_

_\--the usual shit--_

_\--right, besides all of that, I'd be falling into expectations,_

_What are you talking about? What expectations?_

_Between you and me, I'd be the girl. And I'd hate that.  
_  
And that would be a lie. Even in the safety of his own fabrications he can't come clean. 

 

\--

 

Heechul says, before we leave we have to see the Grand Canyon. I want to go there and feel tiny and stupid.

You're already one of those things, Hankyung says, hugging Heechul around the waist with one arm to prove he means the former. Does the map tell us how to get there?

There's internet in the lobby.

Okay. Hankyung downs his third cup of coffee. It's the fourth day they've woken up in time to see the sunrise--not intentionally, even, it just keeps happening that way. Like their bodies know they're racing against time here, some weird physical spiritual connection shit. 

Instant coffeemakers are the best. Under the influence of caffeine, red glow of the horizon waking up, Heechul finds a semblance of courage. Enough to fumble for Hankyung's free hand and press fingertip against fingertip.

Let's go.

 

\--

 

Day 5. Heechul figures out why animals go extinct.

They meet a buffalo on the road, a slow-walking shaggy brown bulky thing. It's Hankyung's turn to drive and he rolls down the window. Tries to ask for directions, making a big show out of it. Hand flourishes and all that. No reply. It is a sensible creature, Heechul thinks, taking a sip of his Poland Spring. 

Hankyung accelerates suddenly, must've gotten bored. Heechul nearly chokes on the bottle. "What the--" Hankyung opens his mouth to laugh and doesn't stop.

Irresponsible drivers.

 

\--

 

There was that time they fought. The next morning they sat at opposite ends of the dining table, eating leftover porridge in silence. It was a small table. Hankyung looked at him a couple times. Heechul pretended to be absorbed in a book, plucked from the heap of presents they received from fans daily. _I have the Right to Destroy Myself_ by Kim Young Ha. Hankyung looked at him. Heechul turned a page.

Silence got old really fast. 

"Aren't we late?" Hankyung asked just as Heechul blurted out, "There's someone in this book that's allergic to _water_."

They stared at each other. It was a different sort of stare from the night before, when seconds lapsed between them and all he wanted to do was push him against the wall and kiss sense into him. 

This stare said something else. _Let's never do this again._

And they hadn't, until.

" _Water_? I'd die."

"You would," Heechul agreed.

 

\--

 

Just as they approach the summit, Heechul decides he'll never make fun of rocks again. He loves this country. He thinks about changing his citizenship.

They sprawl over the ground, feeling uneven edges of rock poke through their t-shirts. The sun beats on their faces, weathering them old.

Heechul cracks open an eye and traces the outline of Hankyung's nose with his index finger, hovering but not touching. Hankyung's got his eyes shut, a curious little smile like he knows. Small flakes of red dirt cling to the skin around his neck and behind his ears. They have to get up soon, when the next tour group arrives.

 

\--

 

"Las Vegas. It's only appropriate."

"Is that Titanic woman still performing there?"

" _Come back. Come back_."

"No, the one who sang the actual song."

"Oh. I don't know."

"Well, we must find out," Heechul says. "We _must_."

 

\--

 

Hankyung's saying (or, more accurately, miming) something to the uniformed teenage boy at the gas station, and Heechul's watching the little hairs on his own arm glitter under the sun. He's already darkened to an ugly mustard brown.

Hankyung comes back with chips and change. They pop open the bag and munch for a while as the guy pumps up the car. The smell of gasoline permeates the air, gasoline and potato chips.

"Piece of shit car," Heechul says, reaching into the bag again.

Hankyung nods, his eyes looking glazed over. "But the company? To die for."

"Damn right--" Heechul opens his mouth to say but Hankyung's gotten closer and suddenly he's kissing him. Heechul hasn't even swallowed that last chip.

And that kid is still standing outside their car.

After they've broken apart, the kid taps on Hankyung's window, lets him know they're ready to go. Heechul is quiet, breathing heavily. "Thanks," he hears Hankyung say.

When they pull back onto the road, Hankyung turns to Heechul with an intolerable grin. "Salty."

"Hey, next time, at least give me a warning before you decide to--"

 

\--

 

Las Vegas is where they splurge. Hankyung loses close to a hundred dollars at the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machines, while Heechul brings him Coke refills. Gambling bores him. "I'm done," Hankyung says, eyes transformed into vortical spools. "Let's take a walk." He grabs Heechul's hand without asking.

Sunsets here belong on a postcard. Ridiculously perfect, Heechul thinks, as they stroll down the street watching lights grow bright and neon. That whole stereotype about flickering hotel signs? Total lie. These lightbulbs probably get replaced daily. Hourly, even.

Hankyung swings their hands together, occasionally pulling Heechul close to whisper borderline insults about the other people on the street in his ear. "Is that a _mustache_? But she has boobs!" Heechul elbows him even though he's pretty sure the woman doesn't understand Korean.

"It's all the hormones in their milk. America's a dangerous place, didn't you know?"

Hankyung's eyebrow twitches at the word "dangerous."

"You, shut up." 

The truth is, all of this is very, very frightening. The flirting, the touching, the kiss. It's all happening too fast. Seven years in the making, the voice in his head says evenly, but this isn't right. They shouldn't have to rush, like this is the last chance they'll ever get.

_Oh._

So he stops fighting it. And that's always been easy.

 

\--

 

They're lying in that gigantic king-sized bed; its covers go on forever. Floral-patterned with gold ribboning at the edges. "Tacky royalty," Heechul says, flouncing on the fabric while Hankyung orders room service and plays with the remote control. 

"Oh, look what they have," Hankyung said, doing the eyebrow thing again. It's still weird, but doesn't make Heechul want to kiss him any less. He doesn't though.

Heechul's eyes shift to the TV screen, absorbs the sight of two naked men sprawled on top of one another. "Seen this one before. Poor lighting and the guys are too buff for my taste."

"What's your type then?" Hankyung asks slyly, inching closer. He looks devious and tired at the same time. 

Now would be the time to say something flirty and clever but Heechul's frozen in the bed, his legs impossibly weighed down by the force of the blankets. He feels himself hardening. He's still terrified.

Hankyung nuzzles his nose against Heechul's neck before kissing it.

 

\--

 

He has thought about this before, countless times, why of all the fifty million people in South Korea he had to go and fall in love with the guy he lived with.

Maybe it was the time Hankyung swiped the water bottle from his hand after dance practice, just seconds away from his lips, and chugged away, his eyes dark and teasing on Heechul the entire time. 

Maybe it was the way he pretended to be dumber than he was because sometimes, the easiest way to get people to like a stranger in their home is to be sweet and stupid, stupidly sweet, just stupid, before he learned to make this place his home too. But did he ever?

Maybe because at the end of the day Heechul's all about power to the weak and it's all Heechul's fault, his fault for reading depths into Hankyung's silences, the words he didn't have, and wanted to... help. Because Heechul is by nature a compassionate person.

It doesn't matter how long he thinks about it, he can't remember when it all imploded, when stealing glances began to linger, when he started feeling relieved that a camera on them meant he could put his hands on Hankyung without feeling ashamed. 

 

\--

 

"Before we--I have to know."

"What?"

"You've never said it."

"We're--I've got my hand wrapped around your dick."

"Just say it, for fuck's sake."

Even in the dark, Heechul can see Hankyung rolling his eyes. But when he speaks again, his voice is softer.

"Yes. The answer is yes, and it's always been."

It's not enough, but the closest they'll ever get, so he takes it.

 

\--

 

They have a layover in Beijing, and on the way there one of the Air China flight attendants keeps addressing Heechul in Chinese, getting the two of them mixed up. Hankyung conks out within half an hour. Heechul watches Kung Fu Panda twice before leaning his seat back as far as it can go without ticking off the woman behind him and turns over to his side, away from Hankyung. The ventilation system here is kind of funky and has his nostrils feeling like they'll shrivel up any second now... and didn't Air China have that awful crash a couple years ago? He tries not to think about dying, the tail of the plane blowing up, nosediving into the sea and floating among the wreckage, clinging on to a piece of the wing for support-- _Would you like more coffee?_ The same flight attendant bends over his seat now, spoken in pristine Korean, and he thinks _Guess I'm not going to get much sleep tonight--or today--does the Pacific have a time zone?_ when he says _Yes, please_.

 

\--

 

Heechul doesn't feel the need to be there in court among the company of higher-up folks and stiff-necked lawyers. He reads the paper leisurely, fools around on the Internet spreading rumors about other celebrities under a pseudonym, and calls up Hongki to ask if he's free for dinner later. He shaves in the bathroom mirror, slow strokes of the razor swiping over miniscule stubble. Feeds Heebum. Feeds Baengsin. Tolerates Heebum's jealous clawing at his shirt. "You're not the only one in my heart anymore," he says matter-of-factly, because love warrants honesty. 

He suspects the loneliness will settle in later, after he stumbles back from Hongki's and collapses on his own bed. One of the rooms will be designated for storage now, or maybe redecorated into a guest room. No one really has the patience or skill for that, though, so it'll probably be left as it is. 

He steps out of the building and sunlight takes him in like a lost child. For a second he imagines the street before him stretches for kilometers with no end in sight, just a big piece of sky and a silly friend riding shotgun, drumming his knuckles against the dashboard to some song he still hasn't gotten around to memorizing. The air tastes like dust and gravel and weeds and all he has to do is breathe until it fills him up dirty and whole.


End file.
